Alec is a Girl's Name

My name is Alec.

I am a lucky girl.

I know this about myself from years of observation.

***

When I was 8, I had life figured out.

Brush your teeth, say your prayers, get straight A's.

I knew who I was.

I liked pants from Gap. I was going to be a marine biologist. I was the smart one. The best swimmer in swimming lessons. An excited piano player. A good student. A good friend. A good person (who wondered if there was a summer break from church).

Some days I was happy.

Other days I was sad.

But I knew, if I followed the black and white rules of life, I would accomplish my dream.

And I would never fall into the dooming category of mediocrity.

***

As I got older, and met better swimmers, better students, prettier girls, more devout church members, and piano students who didn't ruin piano recitals, the image I had of myself slowly began to disintegrate.

And then.

I was too fat.

My eyes were the wrong color.

I wasn't smart enough.

I wasn't strong enough.

My teeth were too yellow.

My hair was too flat.

Some people had better skin than me.

My clothes from Target weren't cutting it.

My nails were too short.

My fingers were too long.

I wasn't outgoing enough.

Or studious enough.

Or brave enough.

Or respectful enough.

In short, I wasn't enough.

Suddenly, an 8 year old's secrets to life just weren't cutting it anymore.

And when I could no longer solve the world's problems--my problems--with straight A's and Koolaid, I lost myself a little.

***

Today, I remembered.

For a minute.

I saw myself as a person, as a dreamer, as a potential.

Today, I'm just a girl who thinks maybe, someday, people will remember that life is about love.

Finding it.

Sharing it.

Holding it.

Remembering.

Giving it.

Today.

My name is Alec.

I am a college graduate.

And a lucky girl.

***

There a few people who I need to thank for letting me have today.

First my parents.

I have cried to my mom so many times in the last four years.

I have cried about leaving.

I have cried about staying.

I have cried about writing.

About winning.

About losing.

About being lost.

About being really lost.

And I didn't know it for a long time, but when I hung up the phone and moved on after a good cry, she held on to the sadness.

I don't know if I would have finished those papers without giving her my sadness.

I don't know if I would have gotten over losing without crying on the phone.

Maybe I would have barreled through.

Or maybe not.

What I do know, is she--my mom--made it easier.

And I need to thank her.

For being a good listener.

For loving me.

For holding me.

For helping me make it through.

Day by day.

One "it'll all work out" at a time.

Thank you.

And then there's my dad, who multiple times has had to remind me about reality.

One day, junior year of high school, on a drive to Utah, he asked me:

"What do you want to do for the rest of your life?"

My answer was serious.

"I'm going to open an amusement park."

"Okay..." he said, in that way that means: you can if you want, but are you sure?. "So what are you going to major in?"

"Business."

After more discussing, I realized I loved to write. I realized I wanted a more exciting life than a business major could probably get me. And all of a sudden I had a life plan and a major I knew I wouldn't change--

Journalism.

And even though I question whether journalism is something I want to do with the rest of my life, I wouldn't change my major even if I have a free do-over card.

It taught me who to make a phone call.

How to talk to strangers.

And how to pull off being nosy while making it look professional.

It was exactly what I needed.

He also was the one who sat down with me, and bought me a plane ticket almost a year ago.

Argentina. July 28. 2009.

In the last year, I have looked back to that trip at least 5 times.

When I feel scared, I remember being brave.

When I feel unlucky, I remember being blessed.

When I feel faithless, I remember faith and its power and its unfailingness.

I need to thank my dad.

For believing me when I said I needed to go to another country, all by myself, with half-a-command of the language and barely a plan to speak of.

I need to thank him for helping me get there.

And, ultimately, for helping me get here. To today. To graduation. And whatever is next.

Thank you Dad.

***

I can't thank my sisters here.

I have too much to say.

I will say that I have loved hanging out with them this semester.

Whether that was at stupid, depressing movies 10 (okay 20) minutes late.

Or at 2 a.m. in the computer room as we laughed about our lives as students.

I loved the time I spent with them.

And I'm so glad we're friends.

***

I need to thank my 6th grade teacher.

For throwing a 6th grade reunion.

And for being a great teacher.

And for always, even now, being a teacher who cares.

Thank you, Mrs. Foster.

I need to thank my 11th grade English teacher, Mr. Sapakie.

Because he made me realized that I could write.

And he made me think.

And he was one of the first people who made me step outside of my box and see the world in a different way.

He also taught me that caring is being a Democrat.

Which is probably why I am registered as an independent instead of a Republican.

In his class I found a writing style.

And for the first time since third grade, I thought maybe this--writing--was something I could love.

And then there's Professor Wimmer.

Who put up with me more times than any one person should.

And who, whether he knew it or not, was my chosen mentor.

He made me love journalism when I wanted to hate it.

And, whether he knows it or not, that is the best compliment I can give.

There are also fifty-some other teachers that I need to thank. Mrs. Lindsay for advising Yearbook. Mrs. Madill for making me love school so much that I cried when spring break came. Mr. Yazwa for teaching me how to play chess and helping my group win Battle of the Books. Seventh grade teachers who made Willis less awful. So on and so forth...

Thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you.

***

Okay.

Chesca & Brett.

Thank you for staying my friends.

Since high school.

Thank you for inviting me, even though I said "no" more than "yes".

Thank you for waiting for me, even though you had waited enough.

Thank you for being my friends.

Thank you for riding X3 with me.

Thank you for not falling out on Goliath.

Thank you for wearing your halloween costume to Olive Garden on Halloween night.

Thanks for staying my friends. I know it was hard sometimes.

Alicia.

Thank you for letting me cry to you at 2 a.m. even though you had work the next morning.

I would list more.

But if that sentence doesn't tell people what a good friend you are, they don't deserve to hear the rest of the reasons.

Today I watched Grey's Anatomy.

Meredith built a room for Christina in her house.

I thought of you.

Because I think we'll be best friends forever.

Next I have to thank Melissa and Neha.

My first roommates.

Without them, I would probably still be trying to decide which university I should go to.

Thank you for making me believe I had already committed to going to U of A.

Thank you for going to orientation with me.

Thank you for making me feel like I wasn't in this whole lonely deal alone.

To my current roommates:

Jillie, thank you for reminding me to party every now and again. And for canceling cable. And for going to that terrible Mexican restaurant with me.

Kelsey, thank you for hot chocolate runs and midnight walks during finals week. I don't know where I would be without them.

Back to friends:

Troy thank you for texting me at 2 a.m. (You owe me $10.) Please come back to America. I will miss you otherwise.

Josh thank you for inviting me to things in Chandler even when I lived in Tucson. Thanks for coming later than me to church that one time. And thanks for that awesome letter you sent me while you were on your mission. (You may not remember it, but I do. It came at a time when I need it, so thanks.)

Pete, Chis, and Brad. Thank you for the parties. (Brad thank you for the eloquent and inspired words on Sunday nights.) (P.S. Happy birthday Pete and Brad.)

Steve and Brandon. Thank you for inviting me to my first concert as an adult. Drowning Pool. Great show.

Brooke, Brian, Scott. You were my first friends in Tucson. Thanks for introducing me to 30 Rock. Thanks for guitar lessons and sing-a-longs. And mostly, thanks for taking me in.

***

The graduation speakers today and yesterday reminded us to thank the people who got us here.

They let us stand up and applaud our friends and family.

I was grateful for a moment to cheer for the people who have never left my side.

I've often thought (usually in the middle of the night) that I owe the universe a thank you card.

I could write hundreds.

To all the people who have left some sort of mark on my life.

From Catherine Ryan Hyde (the author of Pay it Forward) to my kindergarten next door neighbor Jeff, so many people have helped me figure out who I am, and, who I want to be.

Tomorrow I might think I'm not smart enough.

Not brave enough.

Not outgoing enough.

But today, I'm just a girl.

Who is loved.

Enough.

So to all the people who have shown love somewhere along the way--

Thank you.

Thanks to you,

I feel really lucky.